


Those souls who haunts me

by PumpKin_cowboah



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hearing Voices, Light Angst, Multi, One Shot, Self-Esteem Issues, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpKin_cowboah/pseuds/PumpKin_cowboah
Summary: During season 3, after Flint killed the two men accused of stealing food. Contains spoilers for season 1-2-3 I guess.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Miranda Barlow/Captain Flint | James McGraw
Kudos: 4





	Those souls who haunts me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not good at putting tags, I'm sorry  
> I put "he" instead of Flint, technically it's not very correct but I think it sounded better..  
> English is not my native language so there may be grammatical errors!  
> Contains spoilers for the 3 first seasons  
> Enjoy ^^

Don't appear weak. Never let authority fail.  
Even if the price is exorbitant, even if the causes are fatal.  
But sometimes, in moments when time seems nonexistent, he feels the weight of sins and responsibilities he takes on.

Like a rope which is used around his neck, waiting a moment of inattention to strike in the heart, deeply and mortally, where the wounds have not had time to heal.

In such moments he feels weak, he feels like a worldly error, just a callous and cruel assassin among others.  
And he just lets the tears come out, something in his throat formed, and waits.

He can't do anything else.  
It is not made for that.  
He's just a bloodthirsty killer.

But he knows it, he wants to change, to deny his nature, his mistakes, the lives he destroyed.

He slid down the side of the cabinet, the door securely locked, so that no one, no one, saw a single moment of vulnerability. He doesn't need help. He has done too much harm to have that honor.

When he reached the floor, he folded his knees to his face and felt warm streaks run down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand before staring idly at his palm.

His own tears mixed with the blood of another innocent man he savagely deprived of his life.

He saw ghosts again, the voices of poor people who continued to haunt him even in his dreams. The face of a woman, whom he no longer wants to recognize, the very personification of all the sins he has committed.

Another one he failed to protect, another promise he failed to keep.  
He also sees the figure of his old friend again, if he can still call him that.

"I'm tired of the energy it takes to believe you. To believe in you" 

A person he savagely killed for his own survival, to secure his own future.

Do you have to take someone's life to continue yours ?  
Did he at least make the right choice ?  
Is there a good or a bad choice ?  
But even in these questions, he knows that he has chosen a terrible path, a cruel and unhealthy path.

But now, he must assume it and take responsibility.  
And instead of taking care of his men and daring to face them, he's there in his office, slowly rocked by the waves, crying like a poor lost child.  
But children deserve forgiveness, not like him.  
He does not even deserve pity, nor forgiveness, let alone love. Love in itself scares him, it has made him too weak, too vulnerable.

He sighs and tilts his head towards his cabin window. The sun begins to rise and the room is bathed in dim daylight.  
Sniffling again, he picks up a book from the floor beside him. He opens it in the middle and begins to look at the written sentences without any interest in what they mean.

"The dawn announces the beginning, the birth of a vast choice of paths to take"

True, he thinks, but not always fair and just. Sometimes the only choices are not even visible or even attainable.

Still keeping her book in one hand, sat down against the wall and closed her eyes.  
He had calmed down a bit, the tears were no longer flowing and he could think with more clarity.  
Hunger, thirst and lack of sleep must have affected his ability to think, but he could see what he had just done very well now. Kill two more men from his crew in cold blood for a story he didn't even know the truth of.

What would his quartermaster, his companions, think of him?

Everyone is a monster to someone, he know it, he mean it, so why did he have the unpleasant feeling that he were hated?

"It must be awful being you" said Silver.

Yes it was. On all sides.  
But he chose his path, his men needed him right now, but one day, he knows it, he will side with the good side, in the mud of his endless redemption.

The sun was now well up, and before anyone came to remind him of his strangely long absence, he stood up slowly and walked over to his library.  
Books were really deep things, even too much for some.

Humans are really complex, and put down to paper, their thoughts make them even harder to pin down.  
He held the book he still had with both hands in front of him, and admired its blanket with its horny edges from old age and the salt of the sea.

Slowly, he opened the first page, and came across a note, almost erased but still readable;

"James  
My truest love  
Know no Shame

T. H. "

He will be the book against his chest and closed his eyes one last time.  
He must play the game a little longer.  
Until everything was sorted out.  
And finally, he can stop playing the role of everyone's bad guy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, the opinions and kudos will be appreciated :)  
> And feel free to correct my language mistakes !


End file.
